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Shenny felt a bit tired. No, the battle still amazed her, it was an exciting feeling of being in a proper place in a proper time, but she couldn't deny the obvious fact: they have no chance, and their deaths are just a matter of time. For a moment she wondered how would it be: would she fall stabbed in her back by the opponent she hadn't noticed?.. Would somebody pierce her throat, like she did with her first victim?.. What would she feel?..

The sorceress wasn't keeping a track of humans she finished, it's kind of hard and useless, but she understood she did pretty good. Perhaps, that was her true vocation, and with a proper training she could be a good fighter. Suddenly, Shenny noticed a warrior rushing at her. Despite the battle frenzy, she could admit he was beautiful, for a human, of course. Strong jaw, his face covered with scars, deep blue eyes had no fear or hatred, just pure anger. That was a good opponent.

It was very quick, nothing like a good story to tell little scarelings in the evening near a cosy chimney. First, take care of the horse. Quick move, and Shenny hits horse's front legs cutting the tendons. She noticed a tiny opening at human's throat, and immediately jumped to pierce him, as she did with her first human. The ghoul was fast and powerful enough to take him out, but what she completely forgot about was his horse: well, you don't often come across the steeds in Halloween. Loosing its rider the animal went insane, and tried to run, but with its legs being cut, horse fell right on Shenny with all its weight trampling her to the ground

((Proceeding to the DEATH POST))

They attacked again, the humans as if telling the reaper that they were more than willing to kick him while he was down. The wound in his leg was pouring out blood rather profusely spilling all over the dirt as he tried to wield the sickle above his head and not lose what little balance he had managed to suffice.

Another human sunk his blade into his side, he screamed falling to one knee clutching the wound together.

It was painful, it was agonizing, as he swung his sickle around blindly.

Round 3

The singing continued as Joachim ignored the blood pouring from his wounds. He swung his sickle around in circles not caring any more if he killed the humans or not. Wound them! Wound them all! Make them bleed! Make them pay that was all that was needed to win the battle!

Joachim kept limping in his run, the blood splattering all over the ground as he went singing with the voice at the top of his lungs. He didn’t know the words that she sang but it didn’t matter it was the notes that was all he needed.

Sing and swing sing and swing sing and swing!

Round 5

5+ rounds auto death.

Joachim kept swinging, swinging the sickle around in circles cutting them, making the humans bleed or at least that was what he hoped he was doing. Yet it was all started to grow hazy, his entire leg and side was nothing but a layer of dried blood mixed with dirt caking him. It was getting harder to move, almost as if he was a stiff doll with rusted joints that couldn’t function properly despite the owner wanting to play with it.

The singing had faded away and Joachim collapsed on the ground clinging to the pole of the sickle. It was all starting to blur together as his eyelids grew heavy.

It was time to sleep wasn’t it? It was time to lie down in the dirt and sleep.

The last thought running through his mind was the question if they had won the battle or not before landing face first in the dirt.

Sleep.

SIddie had never seen a centaur before. Centaurs tended to live in the wilder parts of Halloween; now she could see why - their bodies would be very awkward in the cities, she thought. She tried not to stare. Wherever they were, they were guests, and staring would be rude. But it was difficult. All the clothes worn by the creatures around them were simple. Archaic. Were they wearing costumes? What part of Halloween were they in?

She moved automatically to take a weapon when told to do so, but she was confused. They were ... fighting humans? Why were they fighting humans? How could they be? Humans didn't come to Halloween. The copper sickle she picked up didn't seem like a very sturdy weapon, but it seemed the most intact of all the weapons within reach. She ran her fingers along it and examined the patches of verdigris. Was it still okay for fighting with? Why were they being given broken weapons?

Was it because they were young, or was it because the situation was desperate?

Make these humans remember what it is like to fear us.

Siddie followed the group, confused nearly to the point of tears. She didn't understand. What were they doing, and why? Where were they? She bit her lip. She would be brave; she would show the priestess that she could complete this task without breaking down.

The beginning of the fight was a blur, chaos, confusion, noise. Siddie struck out clumsily with her sickle, remembering vaguely that a sickle was like a scythe, the sort that reapers used to harvest souls - harvesting, like pulling in, slicing and gathering.

Despite its flaws, her sickle was sharp. It clanged off a human's armor, then sunk into the seam between arm and hand plates. She angled it and pulled, feeling a strange elastic resistance, then a sudden popping sensation and a crunch, and her sickle came away bloody as the human's hand fell away, the stump of an arm gushing blood.

It was only blood, she thought distantly. Why was the human screaming so?

The sickle worked even better if she caught the seam between helmet and shoulders, she found. It took more strength and effort to pull the sickle through flesh and bone, and the weird slick-gritty drag as she cut a human's head off was terribly strange. The headless body did not scream. It simply fell to its knees, then forward and into her, knocking her off balance like a jointed doll with all its Fear drained away. Blood washed over her face and hands, soaking her wrap. It tasted strange, rich and thick and meaty. So unlike the taste of Fear. She ignored the fallen, inanimate thing at her feet and examined her dripping hands with curiosity.

The howl of a human voice jerked her attention back to the fight. A human on a strange creature, a creature like a kelpie or half a centaur, was pointing its sword at her. Then it came rushing at her. She tried to duck to one side, but the not-centaur was fast. So fast.

Her sickle caught deep into the human's bared thigh, ripping loose a hand-sized flap of flesh and a fountaining spray of blood, but its mount's hooves battered Siddie to the ground.

Death was noisy, chaotic, full of stamping crushing jangling pain. No. Not death. Only dissipation. Weakly, Siddie tried to bring her sickle up to slice at the hooves battering at her body, but something in her arm was broken, and she could not move it.

Why were they killing the humans? Why were the humans killing them? These humans weren't Hunters; they were only humans, made to be scared and eaten. Siddie didn't understand.

Everything was going dark. Why should she struggle against the darkness? She was useless if she was too broken. Shadows were her substance and her home. The darkness would take her home.

Willow took her natural form growling at the humans branishing weapons at them. Why did these thing actually hurt? These humans weren't hunters. She tried to move out line of fire but found she was limping as she did so.